Anita Page, Joan Crawford, Dorothy Sebastian,
Our Dancing Daughters, 1928.
“I feel like crying,” says Karen as she reads the story to me. “He’s acting like a kid being let outside for recess. Who is the ‘they?’ He is the ‘they.’ He is the President, the ultimate authority in this country, not a kid rebelling. He’s not a child of the 60’s anymore. Doesn’t he understand that?”
I’m watching Our Dancing Daughters, a great Joan Crawford silent film, and really I’m so ill with Obama fatigue that I just want to concentrate on the very young Joan—hey, have you ever noticed that she never blinks—Anita Page, who died a few months ago, the troubled Southern belle Dorothy Sebastian, the stunning art deco sets, and talk about a killer wardrobe, the leading ladies flounce around in slinky, light as air gowns that cry out for a Lagerfeld revival.
“These people are children, Robert.”
I hit the pause button. This is new. Usually I’m the one ranting and raving while Karen sits working at her desk and muttering: “Uh-huh, uh-huh, whatever you say…”
Karen is a psychologist. A good psychologist. She has insights about people and stuff that go right past yours truly. Often, she warns me away from various Hollywood people and deals because she knows they are going to end badly.
Karen says. “When Michelle Obama says, ‘We got out. They let us out,’ she is using the language of a child.”
“His defenders will argue that he and Michelle were just joking.”
Karen shakes her head from side to side:
“No, it’s little details like this that reveal so much about character. This man is not a statesman. We want a President who has some dignity, who’s not playing house, who’s not playing at being President of the United States. And she’s looking to ingratiate herself with children instead of acting like an adult and setting a proper example.”
Of course, Karen is right, the President and the First Lady reveal an adolescent mind-set, an unwillingness to let go of a tedious anti-establishment pose.
My head throbs.
I don’t hate President Obama or The First Lady. I’m not a Republican version of the sociopath Bush-Cheney haters.
I’m worried about closing Gitmo. I’m worried about extending habeas corpus to non-citizen Islamic barbarians. I’m worried about Obama’s naive rhetoric about Iran unclenching their fist. I’m worried that he will throw Israel under the Islamic bus. I’m worried that this so-called stimulus package is all pork and a cover for Socialism. I’m worried that the Dems are more concerned about so-called global warming than global Islamic terror. I’m worried that the media watchdogs have been plowed under the Obama juggernaut. And last but not least, I’m worried that Obama and Co. are going to get us killed. I’m worried. I’m really worried.
I hit the play button and return to 1928, when flappers were the great danger to the American grain.
On the rockiest day of his young administration, President Barack Obama did what surely made him happy for a while.
With little notice, the president and first lady Michelle Obama bolted the gated compound of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in their tank of a limousine on Tuesday. They ended up at a Washington public school, greeted by children who could not care less about the collapse of a Cabinet secretary nomination.
“We were just tired of being in the White House,” the president candidly told the gleeful second-graders at Capital City Public Charter School.
“We got out! They let us out!” Mrs. Obama said as the kids and their teachers laughed.